


5 Times Dr. John Watson Touched Sherlock's Bum and the 1 Time He Asked Him To

by brage



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Comeplay, Doctor John, Edgeplay, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Sherlock, M/M, Medical, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sexy Times, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-26 15:01:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brage/pseuds/brage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5+1 fic in which the title is the summary.  Loads of minor medical issues that leave poor Sherlock a bit wumped with each chapter, but no worries, John is an excellent doctor.  This story spans from the day after their first meeting to approximately a year and a half afterwards.  I might bend canon a bit but nothing major.  This is just a fun, fluffy story with a bit of humor (hopefully you think so anyway) and my personal weakness, medical issues with lots of comfort.  I promise not to cause too much damage and I always put them right back where I found them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to my beta reader, snogandgrope. She makes my stories so much better and you'll never know the inconsistencies she has saved you from. Also, she was so quick on this one--same day turn around! I am so grateful!

“Strip off your trousers and I’ll have a look at that hip then,” John instructed Sherlock as they made their way through the door of their flat. 

“I’m sorry?”  Sherlock looked confused. 

“You were hit pretty good by that car outside of Angelo’s.  Let me look at it properly,” John hung up his own jacket and went to help Sherlock with his. 

Sherlock stepped away and removed his coat himself.  “Thank you, no.  It’s fine.”

John thought his new friend was acting awfully defensive.  “It’s not fine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  I just finished running all over London with you.  Of course it’s fine.”

“Yes, while you were hopped up on adrenaline it was fine.  I noticed you limping a bit though on the way in.  I’ll just have a quick look.  Make sure it’s okay.”

Sherlock huffed.  “John, as I have explained, I’m married to my work.  I am flattered, but …”

“No!  Sherlock, stop.  Just stop right there.  I’m not … I’m not gay.  Let’s get that straight once and for all.  I’m a doctor and you have an obvious injury.  That’s all, but thanks for insinuating I would use my profession to have an excuse to grope at you.  A fine opinion you must have of me so far.”  John looked abashed and went toward the kitchen. 

“Wait,” Sherlock stopped John from walking away.  “I … I appreciate the offer.  I’ll strip off in my room.  Give me a few moments first?”

“Fine.  Take your time,” John nodded.  “Do you need help?”

“No.”  Sherlock threw over his shoulder as he continued to limp toward his bedroom door. 

 

 

Several minutes later had John knocking on Sherlock’s door.  “All set?”

“Come in, John,” Sherlock shouted. 

Sherlock had changed into a grey t-shirt and was laying on his bed with a blanket over him pulled up to his chest.  “Is it as bruised as I think it is?”  John asked entering the room carrying a plastic bag full of ice and a towel. 

“I don’t know.  How bruised do you think it is?”  Sherlock asked shrugging his shoulder.

John chuckled.  “Left hip, yeah?”

Sherlock nodded. 

“Right then.  Scoot yourself over to the other side of the bed.  I’ll turn on the light over there and see what we’ve got.”  John sat on the edge of the bed, flipped the lamp on and pulled back the cover.  John sighed.  Sherlock still had on his black pants obstructing his view of the man’s hip but he could definitely see some blue and purple bruising peeking out under the edges of the fabric.  “Turn a bit away from me onto your side,” John instructed as he gently prodded the area with his fingers.   “Sherlock, take these off, I can’t see,” John tugged at the hem of the pants a bit trying to pull them out of his way for a proper exam. 

Sherlock gasped and grabbed hold of the garment, keeping it in place.  He turned back around assessing John’s gaze. 

John rolled his eyes.  “Oh, bloody hell.  What is it you think I’m doing back here now?!  I’m trying to help you, you daft git.  Now take these damn things off so I can see.”

Sherlock rolled quietly onto his back, pulled the covers up over him again and stared at John.  “I think you have already assessed that there is bruising present.  How big the bruise is is irrelevant.  The treatment is the same.  Ice, which I see you’ve brought with you,” Sherlock reached for the bag of ice laying on the floor at John’s feet. 

“Oh, you’re such a genius you’ve already got yourself all sorted out.  You’ve seen the edges of the bruising so you can assess if it’s worsening?  You’ve checked the circulation to the area, compared it to the other side?  Assessed for internal hemorrhage?”

“I could do all of that,” Sherlock announced. 

“Right.”  John crossed his arms and waited.  “Off you go then.”

Sherlock sat up in the bed a bit further.

“No, I wouldn’t do that.  Bending your hip might compress the blood vessels and cut off the circulation to your leg.”  John squared his jaw, “But you already knew that, right?”

Sherlock sank back down flat in the bed.  “Obviously.” 

Deciding on a different tack, John sighed and let his forearms rest on his knees.  He had a feeling a bit more patience and a lot less attitude would get him further.  The truth was, after seeing what he had seen, he was worried about the bruising and he really felt a proper assessment was important.  “Look, Sherlock, haven’t you ever taken off your clothes for your doctor to examine you?”

“I’m not a child, John.  Do not attempt to placate me.”  He put his arms underneath the covers and squirmed around a bit before tossing his briefs ceremoniously across the room.  He then turned his body stiffly away from John and pulled the blanket over with him, exposing his backside to John impatiently. 

“All right then.  Good.”  John placed a steadying hand on Sherlock’s hip and began noticing the edges of the bruised area.  It was alarmingly large, extending all the way across one buttock.  “I’m just gonna …” he placed his hand on Sherlock’s hip once more then pushed at the fleshy cheeks checking for rigidity.  Making careful mental notes regarding color and size of the bruising, he gently pulled Sherlock back toward him once more.  “I’m gonna look at how far it extends in the front and check your pulses.”  John repositioned the blanket to cover Sherlock’s important bits as he continued to assess the man’s hip and the pulse in his groin pulling on Sherlock’s limbs as needed to accomplish the tasks.  Finally he pulled the material back into place to preserve his patient’s modesty once more and then moved to the end of the bed and felt the pulses in Sherlock’s feet.  “Very good,” he said with finality.  He reached for the ice pack on the floor and wrapped it in the towel.  “That wasn’t too bad, I hope.”

Sherlock shrugged looking bored. 

“Here is an ice pack.  Keep it on.  Sleep with it in place.  When the ice melts, get more.  Try to keep your hip straight for the next day or so.  The bruise is bad.  The cold will slow down the progression but you have to take care of it.” 

“I understand.” 

“Mmhmm,” John moved the blanket aside and placed the icepack himself before returning the cover.  “I’ll look at it again to make sure it’s not getting worse.”

Sherlock shrugged once more and burrowed into his pillow, apparently ready for sleep.  John shook his head and made his exit.


	2. Chapter 2

“I guess the way you leap from building to building, jumping over fencing and flying through the streets in the dead of night, this was bound to happen eventually.”  John finished the stitches on Sherlock’s hand, snipped the last thread and applied the antibiotic ointment to the area before he started to put on the dressing. 

“We,” Sherlock corrected as he was perched on top of the kitchen table. 

John nodded, “yes, I suppose that’s true, but I’m not the one sporting a gash on the palm of his hand from grabbing hold of a particularly rusted through fence.”

Sherlock shrugged, “could’ve been worse.”

John huffed, “yeah, I suppose it could have been barbed wire instead.”

“I would have noticed that.” 

“You didn’t notice the fence was orange, Sherlock.”

“It was dark,” Sherlock huffed in his own defense. 

“Oh, you didn’t care to notice it because, as always, you negate your own safety in order to get your man.  As soon as he jumped the fence, your decision was made even if it had been covered in broken glass.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “It stands to reason that if he could do it, I most certainly could.”

John scoffed, “Yeah, and by that logic he could also jump off a sodding bridge.  Could you certainly follow him down into the Thames as well?  You daft bugger!”  John finished taping the dressing. 

Sherlock held up the bandaged hand in front of him as though just now noticing it.  “This is going to make certain activities bothersome,” he announced.

John turned to the fridge and opened a small compartment in the door.  “What you and your right hand get up to late at night is not my problem.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “I meant my experiments, John.”

John winked at his flatmate and flashed a cheeky grin.  He deserved it.  Served him right for disregarding his own safety like that.  It hadn’t been the first time he’d done that in the weeks they had lived together.  “I know.” He removed the object from the fridge and closed the door.  “I need you to stand up, drop your pants and bend over the table.”  John stated matter-of-factly as he plunged the needle on the syringe into the vial he held upside down directly in front of his own face. 

“Sorry, what?”  Sherlock sounded shocked.

“I knew you were going to say that.  You heard me and you can see what I’m doing and I’m pretty sure you can deduce where I’m putting this injection.  Use your own methods, Sherlock.” 

“Tetanus?”

“Excellent deduction.”

“Boring.”

“Not nearly as boring as lock jaw.  C’mon, up you get,” John moved a raised finger around in the air in a circle signifying Sherlock should turn around and get on with it.

“I’ve already had a tetanus vaccine,” Sherlock interjected.

“Not since 2005.  Up.  Now.” He had already checked with Mycroft on that fact and had the vial in the refrigerator waiting for an incident like this to happen.  Given the lifestyle Sherlock lead, it was bound to happen.

Sherlock sighed but stood up, turned around and with some trepidation, not to mention handicap from the injury to his dominant hand, he finally dropped his trousers and leaned forward on the kitchen table. 

“So you want me to shoot you through your posh, silky boxers?”

“Yes, please.”

“Sherlock!”

“Fine!”  Sherlock reached back and hooked his thumbs in the material on both sides, giving his pants a harsh tug. 

“Okay, yes that’ll do,” John chuckled.  He had way more skin exposed than he needed to give the injection, but if Sherlock wanted to be a git, so be it.  “Now just relax.”  John wiped down the area with an alcohol swab.  “Sherlock, I said relax.  You’re all tense right here,” John poked at said muscles to demonstrate where he needed his patient to stop clenching up. 

Sherlock just sighed impatiently. 

“Oh for … dammit Sherlock,” John admonished.  “Stand with your weight on this leg,” John gave a smack to Sherlock’s bare left buttock, “then let this leg go limp,” he instructed as he gave the right buttock a quick slap as well.

“Just do it,” Sherlock scolded.

“No.  I can’t give it in tensed up muscles.  It can cause muscle cell death, I’d have to surgically remove the muscle.  Is that what you want?  Another hole in your arse?”

“Oh you do exaggerate quite a bit, don’t you?”  Sherlock acquiesced though, sinking his torso onto the table and letting his right leg go limp.

“Yes, I do.  Sometimes.”  John palmed the flesh before him, giving it a push.  When the flesh jiggled instead of remaining solid and noncompliant, he plunged the needle into the top-most fleshy part of Sherlock’s hip.  At Sherlock’s slight yelp, John apologized, “Sorry, sorry.  Hang in for just a second,” John finished plunging the medication and pulled out the needle.  “There, all done.” He laid a hand on Sherlock’s lower back keeping him in place.  “Hang on, I’ve got a plaster.  You don’t want it to bleed all over your posh underwear,” John smiled. 

 

 

Later that evening John sat in the lounge on the sofa, a cup of tea next to him.  He stared at Sherlock concentrating on an experiment strewn about the kitchen table. “I’m confused about something,” John knew he set himself up to be insulted as soon as he’d said it but he thought if the conversation started off with Sherlock feeling like he already had the upper hand, he might be more forthcoming with his answers. 

“I would imagine that is a constant state for you, John.”

John rolled his eyes but stood and wandered into the kitchen.  “It’s just that you walk around sometimes in just a sheet and nothing else, but when I’m examining you, you seem like you’d rather die than drop your pants or even let me see under your shirt.  Is there a problem?”

Sherlock continued to stare into the microscope.  “No, there’s no problem.”

“It's just … well, if you don’t want me to treat you, that’s fine.  Just go to A&E when you’re hurt.  Lestrade offers it every single time.  You never take it so I have assumed that it’s because you’d rather I … treated you at home.”

“You are preferable to A&E, yes.” 

“If you have another physician, I could …”

“No.”

John spent a moment in thought.  “You don’t expect to be treated at all do you?”

Sherlock finally looked up.

“When you’re hurt on a case, you decline a trip to A&E not because you expect me to take care of you, but because you expect to either treat your injuries yourself or not at all.”

“John.”

“You don’t expect to be cared for at all, do you?”

Sherlock sighed.  “John … I …”

“Well I do hope you know that’s not an option anymore," John admonished.  “I don’t mind if you would rather I not be your doctor, but you cannot dismiss treatment.  That’s just NOT on.  If you want me to stop, then you’ll just have to go to A&E from now on.  That’s it.” 

Sherlock shrugged.  “You are preferable to A&E,” he repeated going back to his microscope.  

John nodded.  “Right then.”  John started to go back to his tea but stopped.  “How’s your hand?”

Sherlock flexed his bandaged hand a bit, not looking up.  “It’s fine.”

John nodded, “Good.  How’s your bum?” 

Sherlock looked up at John without moving his head.  “Dull,” he admonished. 

John chuckled and returned to his tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C'mon and leave a comment ... it really does justify me spending SO much time writing these stories rather than spending that time being a productive member of society. Thank you, and I really do appreciate everyone who is reading my stories. It is a fun past time and I would love to keep on doing it.


	3. Chapter 3

 

“C’mon, just a couple more steps.” 

John startled at the alarmed tone of Lestrade’s voice as he was making his way up the stairs.  Sherlock hadn’t been home when John returned home after work so he assumed Sherlock had been with Lestrade on a case. 

When the two made it through the door, Sherlock had most of his weight on Lestrade.  John jumped up and was at Sherlock’s side in an instant pulling at the man’s coat.  “What the hell happened?”

“It’s nothing, John.”

“It is NOT nothing!”  Lestrade interjected.  “He’s been stabbed,” he said with alarm evident in his voice.

“Stabbed?  What the …”  John continued to pull at Sherlock’s coat, searching his chest, his abdomen, his arms, his face. 

Sherlock sighed.  “It’s nothing.  Just a flesh wound.”  Sherlock finally had his coat off and he flung himself face-first onto the sofa. 

John raised his eyebrows at the first indication of blood on the man’s trousers.  “You were stabbed in the arse?”

At John’s glare toward Lestrade, the man started to explain, “It went off like a charm, John.  Textbook.  We apprehended the criminal at his home, had him in cuffs.  His woman was sitting there, stoic, not moving a muscle, quiet the whole time.  We went to leave and she jumped from the chair and plunged a knife into Sherlock before anyone could say ‘what the hell?’” Lestrade glanced back toward Sherlock.  “He insisted on coming back here instead of the ambulance and to A&E like I said and here we are,” Lestrade finished with an apologetic smile. 

“It isn’t the least bit funny, John.”  Sherlock shouted.

John looked dumbfounded toward Lestrade who wasn’t laughing either.  “Sherlock, I don’t find it the least bit funny at all,” John stated with all seriousness sitting on the edge of the sofa, pulling at Sherlock’s hips so he could unfasten his belt. 

“Oh,” Sherlock said quietly.

“I’m not laughing.  Your body has been invaded by an instrument from someone meant to cause you harm.  I don’t find that humorous.  Lift up,” John instructed, bringing his patient’s trousers and pants down in one go.  He turned to Lestrade, “Grab me some tea towels in the drawer in the kitchen next to the fridge and my medical kit in the cabinet below. 

Lestrade nodded and hurried off. 

“Just take some deep breaths for me Sherlock.  You’re breathing too fast, try to control it, okay?”  John soothed as he continued his assessment of the laceration. 

“Is it bad?”  Sherlock asked.

“No, I don’t think it is,” John remained calm and assuring.  It wouldn’t help to send Sherlock into panic.  He began pulling at Sherlock’s shoes and stripping him from the waist down.  He then took a blanket from the back of the sofa covering his legs.  Lestrade returned with the equipment and John was able to assess the extent of the damage without all of the blood obstructing his view.  “How long was the blade?”  He asked Lestrade as he pulled on a pair of exam gloves, but Sherlock answered him instead.

“Seven inches.  Stainless steel, sawback blade, black.”

“Sawback?”  John asked for clarification.

“Yes, definitely a sawback.”  Sherlock confirmed and Lestrade nodded in confirmation as well. 

“Well then you were damn lucky because none of this damage has been caused by a sawback blade being removed from the wound, meaning …”

“Meaning,” Sherlock interrupted, “that she only grazed me with the front blade and didn’t sink it in deep enough for the sawback to tear the wound open.”

“Yes, exactly.  It’ll need stitching, definitely, but no worries about major blood vessel or nerve damage.  It’s not deep enough for that.  You’ll be fine.”

Lestrade let out a sigh of relief.  “Oh thank God.”  He motioned toward the door.  “If you don’t need anything, I’ll go back to the Yard and let the guys know.”

“That’s fine.  Ta.” 

“Thank you, John.  I thought I’d be apologizing to you for not dragging him to A&E like I should’ve done.”

John nodded and got his equipment together to treat the wound. 

“See ya later gents.  Hope you feel better soon, Sherlock.”  With that, Lestrade left the apartment, closing the door behind him. 

“You doin’ okay, Sherlock?” 

Sherlock’s breathing had become more even and less labored.  “I’m fine, John.” 

John pulled some medication into a syringe.  “I’m going to inject you with a local anesthetic so I can stitch you up.  You’ll feel a pinch and a sting,” John explained as he pushed sterile gauze into the wound and cleaned up any leaking fluid from the anesthetic as well.  Sherlock flinched at a couple of the sharp pokes into his backside.  “I’m sorry, Sherlock.  I just want it to be good and numb so I don’t hurt you.” 

Sherlock grumbled something unintelligible. 

“You okay?”

Sherlock startled.  “Yeah, just … sleepy.” 

“Probably a bit shocky after the adrenaline is wearing off.  We’ll have you sorted shortly.”

“Mmm.” 

“Let’s get your jacket off and get you comfortable.  This is gonna take a while.”  He helped Sherlock remove his jacket and prop his head up on a pillow.  Sherlock pulled in and clutched the pillow to his chest before he sighed and closed his eyes.  John washed his hands and put on fresh gloves before he started the arduous process.  The wound wasn’t too deep but is was fairly long reaching from the dimple of his right cheek down across the crease where thigh met buttock. 

John was actually grateful that Sherlock didn’t go to A&E for this.  A busy physician might not take the time to do tiny, delicate sutures but John wanted to lessen the scarring as much as possible.  Sherlock was young with a perfect arse.  He wanted the marring of it to be as minimized as possible.  With any luck he will have a faint silvery line in time, but nothing too disfiguring.  John sighed and concentrated heavily on his work as his patient snored quietly. 

 

Once John had finished and cleaned up the mess, he found a pair of Sherlock’s pyjama bottoms and his comfiest grey sleeping shirt and brought the items into the sitting room.  Sherlock was still sleeping quietly.  John grabbed some juice from the refrigerator and returned to his patient’s side once more, nudging him and speaking quietly.  “Sherlock, I need you to wake up a bit for me.  Let’s get you changed and you need to drink something for me.” 

Sherlock opened heavy-lidded eyes. 

“There you go.  Let’s get some pyjamas on, Sherlock.”

Sherlock rolled over but then gave in as the sleep dragged him under once more. 

John pondered on why Sherlock could be so sleepy.  He hadn’t really given him anything.  Adrenaline crash and some of the local anesthetic getting into his system could account for it though.  Sighing, John threaded Sherlock’s feet into his pyjama pants and pulled them up his legs just past his knees but couldn’t get them up any further without Sherlock’s cooperation.  Wanting to make this as painless as possible for the detective, he also unbuttoned Sherlock’s shirt getting it ready to be changed for the soft t-shirt. 

“Sherlock, c’mon.  Help me out here.”  John pulled at flaccid limbs expecting to jump start Sherlock into movement.  “Wakey wakey, ya big slug,” John said with affection as he manipulated Sherlock’s body. 

“John,” Sherlock slurred

“Yes, Sherlock, it’s me.  I need you to help me put some pyjamas on you, okay?”

“Y…yesh … fine,” Sherlock drawled sleepily. 

John wouldn’t quite describe Sherlock as being conscious but at least he obeyed commands and shifted about as needed while John dressed him.  He even drank the juice through a straw that John offered him.

John had taken the cup away and put it on the table when he sat back only to have a pillow shoved in his lap and a very drowzy Sherlock flop his head onto that spot.  John put his arms out ready to push his way out from under his flatmate but once he heard the deep, contented sigh, he just couldn’t bring himself to move.  He hesitated a moment but finally put his hand on top of Sherlock’s head, running his fingers over the dark curls and finding himself wondering about how he had been cared for in the past.  As Sherlock slept, John studied his face.  He looked so young and innocent in sleep.  John knew he had a checkered past full of addictions and probably people that tended to abuse their relationship with him.  People in those circles tended to overextend and insinuate themselves which made John shudder to think.  In addition to how Sherlock scoffed at sentiment and knowing Mycroft wasn’t the most affectionate man, he couldn’t imagine the Holmes family being overly affectionate either.  John found himself asking what kind of life Sherlock must have known and how hungry he must have been for comfort to be so seeking of it in his sleep.  The thought made John square his jaw and stiffen his posture with indignation over the presumably wicked people who influenced a very young, vulnerable Sherlock.  His own life wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine but despite the harsh times, John and Harry always knew their parents loved them and always hugged them and showed their emotions. 

John acknowledged the fierce protectiveness he felt toward the man with his head in his lap.  He supposed he felt it from day one and had proved it with that bloody awful cabbie.  John sighed.  It was more than that though, he thought to himself.  Much more than simple protectiveness. 


	4. Chapter 4

John had just buzzed the intercom to signal for the next patient when the exam room door burst open behind him.  He didn’t have time to think about how quick of a response that had been from the receptionist before he heard her shouting “You can’t go in there!  It’s not your turn!!” 

John stood quickly when he noticed it was Sherlock that Sylvia had been shouting at.  He bustled in with his coat billowing behind him, a look of terror on his face. 

“Sherlock?”  John asked. 

“John!  You have to help me,” Sherlock began tossing his coat aside quickly.  He then proceeded to open his trousers. 

“Sherlock?”  John said, more alarmed. 

“I’ve been poisoned.  You have to make it stop!  Now!”  With that, Sherlock dropped both trousers and pants and bent quickly over the side of the exam table exposing a frighteningly alarming looking rash to both cheeks.

John sighed and looked to Sylvia.  “I’ll just go ahead and handle this one then.”

She nodded quickly and bolted from the room, closing the door with a bit more force than needed. 

“Don’t stand there gawking!  Do something!”  Sherlock insisted as he squirmed, apparently unable to keep still.

“Does it hurt or itch?” 

“It itches … can’t you see that?  I’ve scratched nail marks across it since it happened.  Even you should be able to deduce that,” Sherlock huffed impatiently. 

“Right, and what happened?”  John asked as he gathered equipment to wash the ‘poison’ off of Sherlock’s behind. 

“John I’ve already washed it, obviously.  It still itches.”

“Well I’m assuming you weren’t naked when you were poisoned so I’m going to guess that you washed the area and then put the same trousers back on, yeah?”

“Oh.”  Sherlock removed himself from his garments and shoes like they were on fire and then tossed them across the room.  A moment later, after he had deduced he wasn’t even safe from his own shirt, he yanked that off as well and it soon joined the rest of the pile. 

John nodded.  “Well then.  A bit dramatic, but job well done, I suppose,” he moved toward Sherlock with the basin and a couple of flannels. “So what happened?”

“Molly Hooper happened,” Sherlock scoffed as if the name was venom as he leaned forward once more onto the exam table. 

“Molly?  What has she to do with this?”

“Everything!  She poisoned me, John.  Please focus.” 

“Mmhmm … Molly wouldn’t hurt a fly on purpose,” John explained.

“Whether it was done on purpose or not isn’t the issue.  The point is that I’ve been poisoned and she is the culprit just as well as if she’d targeted me for an attack.  Professionalism in the workplace, John.  If you cannot take basic precautions in a laboratory, you do not belong in one.  Being in one when you might cause harm to others is simply unsafe, unprofessional and can be considered dangerous behavior.” 

“Okay, calm down.  Take some deep breaths for me, you’ve got yourself all worked up.”

“I’m not worked up!  I don’t get worked up!  I’ve been …”

“Yes, poisoned.  I got that,” John spoke in soothing tones.  “Humor me though and take some deep, controlled breaths.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but complied none the less. 

“Do you know what kind of solution it is?”  John asked.

“Cleaning solution.  Water soluble.”

“So you’re just allergic to the cleaning solution they use?”

“Obviously.”

“Good that’s very good.  Is it … localized?”  John gave another glance at his patient’s backside.

“John, I am completely naked.  You don’t have to be a detective to answer that for yourself.”

John chuckled.  “I meant your bollocks, Sherlock.  Did the solution creep up any further … under,” John finished with a cupping motion of his hand. 

“Oh God,” Sherlock spread his legs open quickly.  “Check.”

John laughed.  “I see we are definitely over the physical exam anxiety then.” 

“Transport, John.” 

 

After a thorough exam and washing, Sherlock was still itching furiously. 

“I’ll wash it with a baking soda solution.  Maybe that will help neutralize it.”  

“Yes.  Anything, just make it stop.”

“You were saying how Molly attacked you,” John said as he opened cabinets and found what he needed. 

Sherlock was fully sprawled across the exam table, face down. “She was walking through with a cup of the solution in her hands.  She tripped and knocked it over while I was standing at the centrifuge.  When I turned and came back to my seat at the microscope, I hadn’t realized she had spilled it all over my chair.”

“And you sat in it.  Sounds like an accident to me, Sherlock, not a vicious attack.” 

“Look at my skin, John.  My arse has been attacked,” Sherlock clarified with absolutely no doubt. 

John shook his head.  No point arguing.  “It’s not like her to be clumsy.  What made her trip?”

Sherlock mumbled unintelligibly. 

“What was that?” 

“I … winked at her,” Sherlock enunciated. 

John gave his flatmate a tight-lipped smile. 

“Oh, shut up!”

“No no, I think it’s priceless.  The Great Sherlock Holmes comes in storming off about righteous indignation and your holier-than-thou attitude and how nobody could possibly walk a mile in your genius shoes, but here you are all arse up and YOU caused it by being a complete and utter berk!  I think that’s justice if I’ve ever heard it.” 

“John.”

“Or Karma literally bit you right on the arse.”

“Fine.  I might have … miscalculated … a bit.”

“Sorry?  Calculated what? Were you really trying to flirt with her?”  John asked sounding much more panicked than what he was going for. 

“What?  No, of course not.  Not my area.”

“Then …”

Sherlock buried his face into his arms.  “I … practice on her,” he admitted.

“You what?” 

“Oh, how many times do I have to explain this?  It’s all about the WORK, John.  You’ve seen my methods, sometimes I have to … employ certain distasteful practices.  Sometimes that includes flirting.  With women,” Sherlock clarified.

“You do know she has a mad crush on you though, yeah?”

Sherlock shrugged.

“Sherlock!  That’s cruel.  I bet …” John huffed, “…I bet you made her feel like an idiot for spilling.  I bet you shouted at her and called her names, right?”

Sherlock turned and looked over his shoulder.  “Of course not!” 

John squared his jaw ready to defend Molly further.

“John, I did no such thing.  She doesn’t even know I had a reaction to it.  I helped her clean it up and she left the room all … flummoxed like she usually does.  I felt the skin on my buttocks become very hot.  I went into the bathroom and cleaned it off.  When that didn’t help, I came directly here.”

John nodded stiffly.  “All right then.” 

Sherlock relaxed back onto the table.  “I may be a sociopath, but I’m not cruel.” 

John laughed.  “Do you even listen to yourself sometimes?  You just proved, once more, that you are definitely NOT a sociopath.”

Sherlock shrugged. 

“I’ll go find you a set of scrubs to wear home,” John said as he applied an ointment to Sherlock’s rash.

“Mmm … stylish.”

“You could go home in your own clothes if you want.”

“Scrubs sound fine,” Sherlock hissed and reached back to scratch again. 

John grabbed his hands and pulled them away.  “None of that.  I just put medication on it.” 

“Well it still itches.”

“Alright, wait here.  I’ll get you some pills to take that should stop the itching.  They’ll make you sleepy though.” 

“Yes, fine.  I can’t stay like this.”

 

John returned with medication and a set of surgical scrubs that would be way too big on Sherlock, but it would have to suffice. 

Sherlock, still completely naked, sat up without regard for modesty.  He did list to one side however and then finally stood up when any pressure on his backside was not tolerated.  He took his medications and followed it with the cup of water John brought as well. 

“Thank you,” Sherlock handed the cup back to John and grabbed the garments he would be going home in.  When he attempted to bend to put the trousers on, he hissed scratched his backside once more. 

“No, hands off.”  John batted his hands away once more.  “Lie back down again.  I’ll get you dressed,” John motioned toward the exam table. 

“John, you don’t …”

“Yes, I do.  If you keep scratching, you’re going to look like you’ve been doing it with razor blades soon.”  John patted the table to emphasize the instructions.  “Let’s try a cool pack too.  Might take the burn out of it.”  John grabbed the chemical pack and broke the inside vial, shaking it up as he came closer.  He placed it directly on the rash and then busied himself getting Sherlock dressed. 

By the time John had his patient packed up and his prescriptions written, Sherlock was snoring softly.  Unfortunately, John had to wake him.  It took several nudges and several times to call out his name but he finally came to although a bit groggy. 

“You okay?”

Sherlock took in a deep breath.  “That feels so much better, John.” 

“Good.  You need to get home and sleep for the rest of today.  There are two prescriptions here,” John held up the papers, “one is the ointment and the other is the pill.” 

“Yes, you can tell me all about it when we get home.” Sherlock sighed. 

“We?”

“Yes, of course.  Surely, you’re not going to medicate me then throw me into a cab to fend for myself?”

“Sherlock, I gave you an allergy pill, not a valium.  You’ll be fine.”

“You know I’m sensitive to medications.”  He almost sounded panicked.  “I could fall or I could give the cabbie the wrong address or I could even end up at,” he shuddered visibly, “Mycroft’s flat.”

“All right all right,” John soothed.  “Let me go talk to Sarah.”

“Oh, please.  You’ve been with me for almost an hour.  She knows I’m here and that you’re done for the day.  Get your coat and take me home.”

John rolled his eyes.  He was sure Sherlock was laying it on a bit thick but he wanted to see to his friend anyway.  In the year he’d known the man, John seemed to be the only person Sherlock permitted to touch him or show him any affection.  That was an assumption on John’s part.  There were days Sherlock would be gone for hours and John had no idea where he was or what he was up to but there were no outward signs that Sherlock was seeing anyone romantically and John thought, hoped, that Sherlock would tell him if that were the case. 

 

Sherlock had fallen asleep on the sofa when they returned to the flat, completely slack-jawed and drooling and sleeping the sleep of the fully medicated.  He’d flung himself at the sofa in typical Sherlock fashion landing himself face-down.  John took the opportunity to position the ice pack once more on his behind before he settled into Sherlock’s chair and flipped on the telly, turning the sound down very low. 

A few hours and several cups of tea later, Sherlock finally gave a sharp intake of breath and lifted his head.  “Ugh,” he wiped his mouth and flopped onto his side.

“Better?” John asked.

Sherlock thought a moment, clearly taking inventory of his body systems.  “Yes, thank you.”  He adjusted the pillow under his head but made no attempt to get up. 

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Tea?”

“Not yet,” Sherlock nuzzled into the pillow then looked over at John.  “You’ve sat there the entire time?”

John smiled, a bit embarrassed.  He supposed Sherlock didn’t require to be observed so closely the entire time he slept.  Really, the only need Sherlock had or that Sherlock had even voiced was the need to get him home safely, which he did.  At that point he could have done any number of things, but felt the draw to stay at Sherlock’s side.  He nodded, “yes, of course.  I like crap telly, so no harm done.”

Sherlock scoffed. 

“What?” John demanded.

“You,” Sherlock said as if that explained his thoughts.

 John knew he would regret asking but had to anyway, “what about me?”

Sherlock dragged himself up a bit, leaning his torso against the arm of the sofa.  “You like to take care of me.”

John gave a tight-lipped smile and tilted his head.  “You like it when I take care of you.”

Sherlock looked pointedly at John then smiled. 

“As a matter of fact,” John continued. “You don’t let anyone touch you, save for Mrs. Hudson, except for me.”

Sherlock pondered a moment.  “To be fair, the list of people even slightly interested in touching me is a very short one.”

“Mycroft is your own brother.”

“And he is not permitted to touch me with a ten-foot pole.”

John nodded.  “How about Lestrade?  You’ve known him longer, you have a history with him and he has attempted to help you.”

“I don’t need his help.”  Sherlock interrupted sharply. 

“Okay.  But you need mine?” John asked.

“No …well, okay, yes sometimes more than I like to admit,” Sherlock gestured vaguely at his injured body.  “But it’s not just a medical need.”  Sherlock sighed and continued, “I just want it.” 

“Want me?” John asked as the corner of his mouth twitched with anticipation.

Sherlock moved backward on the sofa and patted the cushion.  “Come over here, please,” he requested.

John moved to the sofa and without hesitation, sat down on the small space beside his friend, half turned to face him. 

“Do you see?” 

“See what?”

“John, do you remember a time when your close proximity would have bothered me?”

“Yes, of course.  You were a bit squeamish at first.”

“I was intolerant of it,” Sherlock corrected dropping his gaze to John’s knee as he placed a hand there. 

“And now you’re tolerant of me touching you.”

“Now I seem to seek it.”

John nodded and placed his hand over Sherlock’s in silent invitation to continue the touch.  “Is it … sexual attraction?”

Sherlock winced. 

“It’s fine, if it isn’t …”

“Yes, I know it’s fine, I just … you don’t understand …” Sherlock sounded frustrated. 

“Then explain it to me,” John said patiently.

Sherlock took a moment to gather his thoughts.  “You have no idea how intolerant of other people I am.  As soon as people … nearly all people, open their mouths, they have already proven themselves dull and pedestrian.  Yes, I’ve met some that captured my attention for brief periods of time, but never long enough to cultivate a comfortable physicality with them, let alone a sexual relationship. I cannot stop the thoughts in my head.  My mind has always won over any sort of physical or hormonal want and inevitably these people … men … that have had my attention briefly, do prove themselves just as intolerable as everyone else.  It has never taken long.” 

“I keep thinking I’ll be next out soon,” John admitted.

“No,” Sherlock leaned in closer.  “Not you.  You’re … different.  You’re tolerable.”

“Careful,” John chuckled.  “I might get a big head.”

Sherlock grinned.  “I mean more than that.”

John smiled, “I know.”

“I don’t know if it’s sexual.  I honestly don’t even know if I’m capable of it.”

“You mean you …”

“John, I can achieve an erection,” Sherlock said rolling his eyes.  “I’ve just never felt the desire to share myself in that way.  I don’t even know if that is how I feel.  I just know that I think very fondly of it when you touch my arm or reach for my wrist or brush up against me and that I am amenable to being around you and I become irritated when you leave and when I’m injured the pang of need is … palpable.”    

“Sooo … you want to touch more?”  John asked attempting to clarify what Sherlock was saying.

“Definitely,” Sherlock nodded.

John still looked a bit confused. 

“Oh for God’s sake!  Get there faster,” Sherlock huffed.

“Oh, sorry.  Um … how about we kiss?”

They both leaned in closer, John kissed the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, teasing it open, licking Sherlock’s bottom lip.  Sherlock was a quick study and opened his mouth accepting John’s tongue in his own mouth.  John licked the roof of Sherlock’s mouth, gently coaxing it further open.  Neither dominated the kiss.  Once they started caressing each other with their mouths, they deepened the kiss turning is from something exploratory to something sensual.  Soon they were thrusting hips against each other, Sherlock writhing against John’s thigh.  John grabbed Sherlock’s arse cheek and pulled him forward, giving Sherlock the leverage he seemed to need as he rutted against John. 

“Mmm … God, John!”  Sherlock pulled away breathless.  “As much as I would love to tell you that I am rubbing against you like a cat in heat because I’m so turned on, I have to admit that my arse is itching again like it’s on fire!!”

“Oh.”  John pulled away disappointed.  “Oh!  Yes, sorry.  Turn over.  I’ll put some more cream on it.”

Sherlock took a moment to eye him lasciviously. 

“The medicine … just the medicine,” John clarified with a grin of his own. 

Sherlock laid flat once more and flipped onto his front side.  “Just so you know, I did enjoy that.”

John pulled down the scrub pants to just below Sherlock’s bottom.  “Ta.  I did  too.  Maybe, when you feel better…”  John was hopeful as he continued to rub the soothing medicine into Sherlock’s cheeks. 

“Boys, I was just …” Mrs. Hudson waltzed through the front door of their flat and stopped dead in her tracks at the sight before her.  “OH!  Oh my!  I’ll just …” She was down the stairs faster than they could tell her otherwise. 

Sherlock turned and looked at John over his shoulder.  “See!  What do I say about making premature assumptions before you have all the facts?”  He locked eyes with John.  They both broke out into face-splitting grins and didn’t even try to contain their laughter. 

 

* * *

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, folks--it's a bum story and it's a medical story so yeah, I went there. Nothing graphic or even gross, promise. Mostly, this is just lots more sleepy, pyjama clad Sherlock and comforting John.

John woke to find that Sherlock was no longer in their bed for some reason.  In the months they had been together one of the biggest surprises in their relationship was that Sherlock would stay in bed, next to John while he caught up with Forensic Science Monthly on his laptop or updated his website.  He didn’t require much sleep, but he seemed to like being next to John as much as possible.

John could tell from the light filtering through the curtain that it was still late or very early morning.  They had both fallen asleep in each other’s arms.  He listened for sounds of life beyond the borders of their bed.  When there was a distinct retching sound coming from the bathroom, John sprang to his feet and went to find his lover. 

He found Sherlock on the floor, still in his pyjamas, squished in the space between the toilet and the tub. He was leaning toward the commode, his face hovering over the bowl.  Sherlock barely acknowledged John’s presence before his body seized and he lurched forward, bringing up more bile that spilled into the water. 

“Oh, Sherlock.” John said with sympathy.  He grabbed a couple of flannels and ran them under the cool water in the sink before he knelt down next to him.  Speaking in soothing tones, John rubbed the cool cloth over the back of Sherlock’s neck.  “Think you’re done?”

Sherlock nodded and said with a shaky voice, “I … I think so.”   

“Wipe your mouth,” John instructed then helped Sherlock stand.  “Did you get any on your pyjamas?”  At Sherlock’s negative response, John put a hand on the small of Sherlock’s back and led him out of the bathroom.  “Let’s get you back to bed.  You feel like you may have a fever.”

Sherlock nodded, “39.2 degrees.”

“Whoa,” John sounded a bit alarmed.  “That’s pretty high.  Did you take anything for it?”

“Yes, John and I think they’re now in the bottom of the toilet basin,” Sherlock snapped. 

“Okay, okay.  We’ll get you sorted out.  No worries.”

“Who is ‘we’?”

“What?”

“When you go into doctor mode, you start talking as though you have a mouse in your pocket and the pair of you will fix me,” Sherlock sank back into the bed, shivering.  “I need my heating pad.”

“Uh …no. No way, Sherlock.  With that fever, that’s the last thing you need.”  John tucked in the covers around Sherlock and assisted him in getting more comfortable. 

Sherlock sighed.  “It helps with the nausea.”

“I would much rather you be nauseated then have your fever go any higher.”

“And I would rather be delirious with fever than feel nauseated.  I cannot tolerate the sensation of ejecting my stomach contents.  It’s disgusting.  And it hurts,” Sherlock added. 

John wiped Sherlock’s sweat-matted hair back away from his forehead.  His skin was so flushed and warm.  John looked at his lover with sympathy.  “I know.  I’m just trying to help you, babe.”

Sherlock groaned.  “Please … I hate vomiting, John.”  He put his hand over his mouth quickly as though the act itself was an imminent event.  Sherlock took deep, slow, purposeful breaths and closed his eyes, apparently attempting to prevent the hated action. 

John looked alarmed and ran to the bathroom for more cool flannels and then to the kitchen for a bucket.  When he returned, Sherlock was still squeezing his eyes shut and doing the same deep breathing exercises.  “You’re doing great, Sherlock,” John soothed.  “Hang in there.”  John rubbed Sherlock’s face with the cool cloth making Sherlock lean into the comforting touch.

Sherlock looked up at John with such agony and groaned, “please.”

John ran a hand through his hair.  His partner looked so miserable, he just wanted to help him find relief.  “All right, fine.  But, I’m putting frozen peas in your armpits and behind your neck.”

Sherlock opened his eyes as wide as he could, although weakly, “John, that’s ridiculous!  I’ll freeze.”  He burrowed under the covers, still visibly shivering.

“No, you won’t.  You have a fever.  You’re not cold, you just feel like you are,” John found the heating pad Sherlock had requested tucked away on a shelf between a framed beetle collection and an old chemistry book on one of Sherlock’s shelves.  He plugged it in and put it on Sherlock’s belly. 

Sherlock sighed in gratitude.

“I’ll be right back.”

“We don’t have any frozen peas, John.”

“Yes, we do,” he called out over his shoulder as he made his way out the door. 

Sherlock was just drifting off when John returned with the frozen vegetables.  He grinned sleepily when the bags were clearly NOT peas. 

“Yes, you were right, you berk.  No peas.  We do have frozen carrots and broccoli though and that will do.”

“Broccoli is too lumpy.”

“Then I won’t put that one behind your head.”

“Four years of undergraduate school, four years of medical school, six years in residency and then another seven years in practice.  All of that medical knowledge and the best you have are frozen vegetables?” Sherlock asked indignantly.

John rolled his eyes.  “No, the best is paracetamol but you can’t keep that down at the moment.  The best way around throwing it up is to give it IV, but there is a shortage of paracetamol IV.  It’s being rationed out to critical units in hospital only.  I have suppositories in my kit.”

Sherlock attempted a steely glare that really only looked like a pissed off, pouty kitty cat.  “So you’re saying my only two options are frozen produce or medication being forced inside my body anally?”

John nodded.  “’Fraid so, yeah.”

Sherlock pointedly stuffed the broccoli under his arm and laid his head back onto the pillow miserably. 

 

John sat in the chair watching his partner try to sleep.  After an hour Sherlock was still flushed with fever and shivering.  He had already taken off all of the blankets except for one thin sheet and had even put frozen packs of cauliflower on Sherlock’s groin area.  He took his patient’s temperature again.   Sherlock just looked up at him bleery-eyed but didn’t protest.  His temperature had come up almost another degree.  John noticed Sherlock’s breathing was a bit fast.  He reached for his wrist to take his pulse.  It was a bit fast as well.  He briefly debated taking Sherlock to the hospital but knew Sherlock would never agree to it and the doctors there would only ask why he didn’t try the damn suppositories.  His mind made up, John put on a dressing gown over his pyjamas and went to find his med kit.  He had to get the fever down. 

He was standing in the middle of the sitting room eyeing the medicine in his hand and deciding how the hell he was going to approach this with Sherlock when the man himself made his way out of their bedroom. 

“John?”

“I’m right here, babe.”  John put the packet of surgi-lube and the medicine in his robe pocket and met up with Sherlock in the hallway.  Instinctively, John put the back of his hand on Sherlock’s forehead.  Sherlock pulled away and dragged his blanket and a pillow with him into the lounge. 

“When did you go to the bathroom last?”

John looked confused.  “Pardon?”

“When was the last time you used the loo?”  Sherlock enunciated clearly, if impatiently seemingly using all of his energy stores to get the question out.

“I just did.”

Sherlock had arrived at the sofa. “Good,” he motioned toward it, “we’ll be here for a while. Sit please.”

John looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose.  “John, my heating pad keeps turning off and my stomach still hurts.  I need you.”

“You need me to be your heating pad?”

“I am freezing!” Sherlock stated more as a demand to fix it rather than a stating a fact.

John sighed, but grabbed a tea towel from the kitchen and complied, sitting at the end of the sofa.  Sherlock nudged him down just a little bit and then put a pillow at the end of the sofa, over the arm.  He then laid down over John’s lap, on his side facing John, his head on the pillow.  Bending his knees up  a bit had him curled around John’s body with their bellies against each other.  Sherlock tucked in the covers around them and closed his eyes. 

John sighed and placed a hand on top of Sherlock’s hair, rubbing his thumb soothingly on his head.  The only reason John warred with himself about the damn suppository was because he knew how Sherlock felt about being penetrated.  He didn’t like the sensation at all.  Otherwise, medicine was medicine and he did whatever he could, however he had to do it in order to achieve the goal of making his patients better.  He didn’t care about being embarrassed or about vanity.  It was what it was.  That’s it.  He just didn’t want Sherlock to be upset with him when he went against what he knew Sherlock didn’t want.  He supposed this was one of the reasons that doctors should never treat their loved ones.  His personal thoughts were getting in the way of what he knew had to be done.  Well, that just would not do. 

“My fever is up,” Sherlock broke into John’s thoughts.

“Yes.”

Sherlock took John’s hand in his and snaked in under the covers and then under Sherlock’s dressing gown, placing his hand on Sherlock’s bare hip.  John touched the flesh that he had touched many times before but he didn’t understand why it was bare.  Sherlock had been in pants and pyjamas when he had placed the frozen packs earlier. 

“Oh,” realization dawned.

“My fever is up,” Sherlock said by way of explanation before he turned his body more downward, burying his face into the space between John’s body and the pillow and spread his legs. 

John quietly grabbed the supplies from his pocket before he opened them.  He didn’t think he should talk about it or even talk Sherlock through it.  It somehow seemed like it would just add to the embarrassment, Sherlock might even feel humiliated if he gave voice to it.  John knew Sherlock was aware of exactly what John was going to do to treat the fever.  He also knew John had no other choice.  The fever had to come down.  John was careful to keep Sherlock covered, only exposing him briefly and minimally as possible.  He gave Sherlock’s hip a rub with his thumb in warning and Sherlock nodded slightly in acknowledgment.  Despite the fact that John used way too much lube, Sherlock still flinched making John feel like a cad when the suppository was placed.  He whispered, “I’m so sorry.” Before  he cleaned the goopy mess with the towel and covered Sherlock up tight. 

Sherlock sighed and rolled up onto his side once more, nuzzling into John’s ribs. 

Not for the first time since they’d become partners, John felt protective toward the man sleeping in his lap.  He stroked the dark curls away from Sherlock’s face fondly and rubbed soothing circles into his hip with the other hand. 

 

 

John awoke with the sun barreling in through the windows and his body sprawled out lengthwise on the sofa.  He took a moment to remember why he had fallen asleep in the lounge, then raised his head eagerly searching for his flatmate. 

“Are you … satisfied with our sex life?”

John just about jumped through his skin when he noticed Sherlock sitting on the floor under the big window near the desk. 

“Sherlock?”  John sat up and attempted to shake the fog from his brain.  “What are you doing down there?”

“Answer the question, John.”

“Yes, of course I am,” John rose and went to Sherlock quickly.  “Do you still have a fever?”  He placed a hand on Sherlock’s forehead.

“No.  It broke very early this morning.  I’m fine.”

John checked Sherlock’s pulse point at his wrist, “still a bit fast, but better.  Tell me how you feel?”

Sherlock slowly locked his gaze with John’s.  “I’m curious.”

“Of course you are,” John sighed.  “C’mon, up you get,” John pulled up from under Sherlock’s arms and the man cooperated and stood although a bit shakily.  “Whoa, there we go.  Let’s get you properly seated.”

Sherlock submitted and plopped down in his chair.   “Thank you, John.  I suppose I am still a bit weak, but I’m fine.”

“Yes, I see that.  What were you doing … all crouching tiger in the corner there?”

“It was the best vantage point.”

“Vantage for what?”

“I was pondering you.”

“Uh huh,” he nodded, “about our sex life?”  John clarified.

“Yes.”

“I’m completely satisfied with our sex life.  Last night … look I know that wasn’t the most comfortable …”

Sherlock gave an over-dramatized sigh, “dull,” he proclaimed.  “I know all about that.  You are my doctor and you were treating me.  I understand.”

“But now, suddenly, you’re worried about how satisfied I am with how things are between us?”

Sherlock stiffened his lip and gave a tight nod. 

John kneeled next to Sherlock’s chair and looked up at him.  When Sherlock wouldn’t make eye contact, John leaned in and turned the man’s head with his hand on Sherlock’s chin.  “Hey, listen to me.  There is no reason to feel insecure about that.”

Sherlock scoffed.

“Sherlock, I’m serious.”

“Yes, I’m sure it’s very realistic to shrug off penetrative sex when you’ve been an enthusiastic participant in it since age sixteen.”  Sherlock brushed off John’s touch.  “It’s fine.”

John gave a tight-lipped smile knowing he had never told Sherlock how old he was when he lost his virginity, but he wasn’t wrong either.  “What’s fine?”

Sherlock gave a shrug as nonchalantly as he could muster.  “I just thought that you might want that, with me.  I could probably do that.”

“Sherlock, you sound like you’re agreeing to do something repellent, like eat monkey brains.  Tell me what’s going on in that genius head of yours,” John insisted.

“It’s quite simple, really.  The average human male thinks about penetrative sex every 14.8 seconds and actively participates in the act approximately twice per week if he’s married and three times per week if he’s single but living with someone.  You and I have been exclusively with each other for the past three months.  No, we have never said we’re exclusively together, but I haven’t seen anyone else, of course and neither have you or I would have known.  It simply stands to reason that you might desire penetrative intercourse instead of,” he moved a hand in the air with a flourish, “what it is we’ve been up to.”

“I like what we’ve been up to.”

“For now, it’s fine perhaps.  I just want you to know that I would not be able to prevent myself from seeking vengeance upon anyone laying a finger on you sexually therefore I would be a willing participant should you require penetrative sex.”  Sherlock stated matter-of-factly. 

John nearly choked on the air he was breathing, then smiled warmly.  “I think you just asked me to go steady with you.”

Sherlock shrugged.  “Possibly,” he thought for a moment, “probably.”

“Well, upon fear of death to anyone else who touches me, but I suppose that’s probably as sappy as you get, right?”

Sherlock gave a small smile and a shrug of one shoulder. 

John kissed him.  “You are a such a berk.  Why would I want to change what we have?” 

“John I’m not naïve …”

“No, you’re not.  I’m not either,” John looked away, feeling slightly uncomfortable.  “I’ve had loads of sex with woman, all completely unsatisfying … or only satisfying for the moment anyway.  I’ve had sex with men where the only point of contact between us was hard prick into arsehole.  No touching, no kissing, just a quick fuck and move on.”  John looked at Sherlock once more, his eyes searching.  “None of them were even half as fulfilling as having you in my bed,” John kissed the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, “kissing me, rubbing your hands on me, connecting with me … me, as in ‘not just a warm body’ kind of way, but touching me as if … as if it’s really ME you want there beside you,” he kissed Sherlock’s jaw and then made his way down to his collar bone, “making me feel like I shouldn’t be anywhere else in the world.”

“John,” Sherlock breathed his name. 

“I love you, Sherlock,” John put his forehead to Sherlock’s.  “I love you very much and I love our sex life exactly the way it is.”

Sherlock smiled.  “I love you too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment on this chapter. I'd really like to know what you think about it.


	6. Chapter 6

John shuffled into their flat after a long day at the surgery.  He kissed his lover in the kitchen in greeting and put the kettle on, sighing wearily. 

“Long day?”  Sherlock asked. 

John stood behind Sherlock smiling at him for a moment.  He loved it when Sherlock did those domestic niceties for John even though Sherlock really thought they were just boring and dull and trite.   If someone had told him last year that Sherlock would be asking about his day at work or offering to fix him a cup of tea, John would have laughed.  There was actually one day that Sherlock had even attempted to make John dinner.  It had been atrocious and never reattempted, thank God, but it still made John smile.  They had had a long talk about the fact that John didn’t want Sherlock to change who he was to fit what Sherlock thought John wanted.  There had been a compromise that, yes, Sherlock would need to be ‘nice’, although there was no direct definition of what that was and, yes, Sherlock would need to try…try to stop insulting John.  John hadn’t directly said that sex would be withheld otherwise, but how could he be expected to perform when he was too pissed off?  Sherlock did everything in his power to NOT piss off John. 

Despite the motive for asking, John answered the question, “yes, definitely.  Mostly little old ladies with bowel issues and snot-nosed children.”

Sherlock shuddered, “yes that does sound like a long tedious day.”  Sherlock turned back toward his microscope. 

“I did have this one gentlemen though,” John shook his head in frustration.  “I just hate it when I fall for it.  If there is one thing I cannot stand it’s being manipulated.”  John sounded angry.

Sherlock looked up half interested.  “Who manipulated you?”

“This … patient of mine.  Sodding git!”  John took his tea and the newspaper and went into the lounge to relax in his chair. 

“So?” Sherlock prodded coming to sit in his chair across from John.

“What? Oh, yes, well, young man, in his thirties and the visit sheet says he’s in for a prostate check.”  John sipped his tea and put it on the side table.  “I thought it was odd for such a young man to need that particular exam so I questioned him.  He had an elaborate story about his father and his grandfather and even his brother all having prostate cancer at an early age.  I mean he laid it on thick, really thick.  Of course, I was supportive and spoke soothingly just as I always do, especially before doing such an intimate exam.”

Sherlock sat forward in his chair. 

“So, I did the exam.”

“Did what exam?”

“I examined his prostate gland.”

“How does one do that?”  Sherlock sought clarification.

John raised an eyebrow.  He would have thought Sherlock had read it somewhere at some point in his life, but he probably deleted it.  He shrugged and answered Sherlock’s question.  “The prostate is a gland located around a man’s urethra, it is prone to enlargement and possibly cancer, especially after the age of 40 which is when an annual manual manipulation exam is warranted.  The physician accesses it by inserting a finger inside of the rectum.”

“Oh.” Sherlock thought for a moment.  “Continue.”

“So, like I said, I examined him.  I was quick and efficient, but quite thorough and then removed my finger.  I told him I was finished and he could stand up but the man collapsed against the table and started weeping.  Naturally, I asked him what was wrong.  He started talking about how his father had annual screenings too and that the physician hadn’t been thorough enough and had missed something and that his poor old dad had died because his doctor just didn’t take the time.”  John huffed in anger as he remembered the incident from earlier that day. 

“So, what did you do?”

“I put on another pair of gloves and re-examined him.  He thanked me for being so careful with him.  As I was prodding against the gland, paying particular attention to the borders of it and the consistency, he starts moaning … moaning like he’s near orgasm.” 

“What!!”

“That’s what I said.  I wrenched my hand away from him and told him he was finished.”  John sighed again, “do you know what this berk had the nerve to say to me?”

“What?”

“He says ‘Doctor, I think if you just press a little harder next time!’ As if I should continue!  I was livid.  I told him it was past time he got dressed and I sent him off.  I looked him up on the computer system.  He’s had four prostate exams in the last six months.  He’s a wanker!”

“He **wanted** you to examine his prostate?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I don’t understand.”

“For sexual stimulation,” John attempted to explain.

“Oh,” Sherlock said still looking like he didn’t see the point.

“Do you know what the prostate does?”

“Yes, of course.  It produces a white, alkaline substance that consists of 50-75% of the male ejaculate.”

“Right, but when stimulated, a man can achieve orgasm just in that way.”

“Really?”  Sherlock was shocked.

“How could you not know …”

“Transport, John.  If I don’t need it for The Work, then it isn’t important.” He gave John a dismissive wave of his hand, “you know what I mean.” 

John picked up his newspaper once more.  “Yes, well, anyway he was a wanker.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said contemplatively. 

 After a few moments of silently reading, John was startled away from the article by Sherlock’s announcement.  “John, I will need you to examine my prostate please.”

John raised an eyebrow, folded his newspaper calmly and laid it on his lap.  He put one raised finger to the side of his cheek, his other fingers brushing across his bottom lip.  Finally, he stared at Sherlock.  “What the hell are you talking about now?”

“You’re a physician …”

“Yes, I’m a physician who doesn’t give unwarranted and invasive examinations to just anyone who asks for one!”

Sherlock sighed.  “Would it help if I said my prostate hurts?”

“Very funny.  Hilarious, Sherlock.”

Sherlock rose from the chair and started unbuttoning his trousers.  “I think there is lube in your kit,” he said as he headed toward the kitchen. 

John told himself he wasn’t going to fall for it.  He absolutely was NOT going into the kitchen. 

“Ah, yes.  Here it is.”

John then heard a distinctive clink and he was sure Sherlock’s trousers hit the floor. 

“I’ll just be naked, arse up, bent over the kitchen table then.  Whenever you get a minute.  Take your time, John.” 

John bit his lip. _‘Ugh!_ ’  “Fine,” John turned to find his lover over the table just like he had described looking sinfully debauched.  “Stand up, Sherlock.”  John walked into the kitchen.

“John.”

“Stand up,” John coaxed and prompted Sherlock to turn around and sit on the table.  “Tell me why.”

“Because it’s information I might need.  Do you know how many murders are committed over matters of sex, John?  Ninety percent …”

“Uh uh,” John said shaking his head.

Sherlock looked abashed, “what do you mean ‘uh uh’?”

“I mean,”  John bent down to remove his lover’s shoes, socks, trousers and pants.  “that you are not curious for the sake of ‘The Work’.  You are just curious.”

Sherlock looked innocent of the accusation at first, but then nodded in a noncommittal  way. 

John looked up at Sherlock, “I’m not giving in to you, you know.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t have a medical kink.”  John finished his task and stood up to come face-to-face with Sherlock.  “Also because I’m a gay man,” he paused at Sherlock’s look of surprise! “I know I'm bisexual, but that doesn’t matter when I’m only shagging you and plan on being with you until we’re dead, so … gay is fine."

"Pretty sure that's not how that works."

"No, of course not." John looked flustered. "You're right. I'm not trying to redefine my orientation. Look, it doesn't matter. Not the point.  Anyway, I’m in love with a man and a physician so of course, I’m going to use the knowledge at my disposal and I do massage your prostate all the time.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in confusion.  “No, we’ve never done …”

“I massage it externally and you do the same to me.  Only now I guess you didn’t know you were doing it and were just copying what I was doing.” 

“How?”

John reached down behind Sherlock’s bollocks, “it’s behind this space right here.  It’s what I’m doing when I draw circles on it with my thumbs.  You probably don’t notice it specifically because I usually have your cock in my mouth at the same time.”

“Oh, yes I do like that quite a bit.”

John chuckled.  “Yes you do.”  He stroked a thumb across Sherlock’s cheek.  “If you still want me to show you what it feels like on the inside, I will, but I’m not going to examine you, coldly, propped up over a table.  Your lover, will show you, not your doctor.”

Sherlock nodded. 

“Good,” John kissed Sherlock’s lips and pulled him in for an embrace, “now wrap those long, beautiful legs around my waist and hang on to me.” 

Sherlock wrapped his legs around John as requested, hooking his ankles together.  He gasped when John stood with him still attached.

John grabbed Sherlock under his bottom and heaved him up tight against him. 

“You’re … God, John,” Sherlock was becoming breathless.

John growled into Sherlock’s ear.  “Yes, I’m dragging you into the bedroom just like a sodding caveman.” 

Sherlock smile-kissed his lover and said, “okay.”

John growled again and nibbled at Sherlock’s neck making the man squirm and giggle which made John laugh in return.  “God, you’re gorgeous.  I love it when you’re happy.”  John walked as he held Sherlock close, kissing and nipping at him, Sherlock thrusting his cock up against John’s belly, his arms and legs wrapped around him tightly.  When John came to the bed, he lowered Sherlock down upon it, but Sherlock refused to break his hold.  They lay against each other, thrusting their hips together, kissing and breathing in each other’s heady smells of sweat and lust.

“They say the way to a man’s heart is through his cock,” Sherlock deadpanned. 

John laughed.  “It’s ‘through his stomach,’ you git.”

“Yes, but that’s completely ridiculous.  I changed it.  I even put it on my website.” 

“I am not surprised.”  John reached between them and unbuttoned Sherlock’s shirt spreading it open.  “God, just look at you,” John’s breath hitched before he took one of Sherlock’s nipples in his mouth and sucked. 

“Oh!  John!”  Sherlock flung his head back, keeping his hands in John’s hair, locking him in place.  “Oh!”

John loved making Sherlock speechless.  “I want to kiss you, every inch of you.”

“Yes … oh godyes … please.” 

John pulled on Sherlock’s shirt as he kissed his way across the man’s chest, over his collar bone, up to his jaw, down his neck.  Soon Sherlock was completely naked under John’s fully clothed form.  John batted hands away that attempted to strip him of his clothes.  “Uh uh…not yet,” John laughed when Sherlock gave a breathy pout.  When Sherlock couldn’t keep himself from pulling at John’s clothes, John grabbed his lover’s hands and held them over his head. 

“John?  Please … ugh … please,” Sherlock moaned.

John finished kissing Sherlock’s ribs then moved up one arm, kissing the sensitive skin on the underside until he finally kissed their joined hands then kissed Sherlock’s lips once more.  “I’m going to suck your cock.” 

Sherlock let out a breathy moan and held John’s hands tight.  “John … I was reading …”

“Uh oh.  That sounds ominous.”

Sherlock gave a huff.  “I was reading,”  he continued, “about … edging.”

John raised an eyebrow.  “You want me to edge you tonight?”

Sherlock nodded, “Yes.”

“All right,” John agreed.  “Have you ever done that?”

“No, of course not.”

“I meant have you ever edged yourself?”

“No.”

John nodded.  “You’re going to become very frustrated,” John emphasized wanting to be sure this was what Sherlock wanted. 

Sherlock shrugged.  “You prolong my orgasms anyway, I don’t see the difference.”

John gave a small smile.  “Well then, let me show you the difference,” his smile turning from curious lust to predatory lasciviousness instantly.  The change made Sherlock shiver in anticipation letting out a small  gasp as John traveled south. 

Licking a stripe of moist heat from the base of Sherlock’s cock to his tip, caused the writhing man beneath him to buck up off the bed wildly.  John placed his forearm across Sherlock’s hips to keep him grounded since he didn’t particularly feel like having the man’s cock shoved down the back of his throat.  Once he was secured to the bed properly, John took his cock inside his mouth letting it glide loosely in and out of his mouth, getting it wet, feeling it hit the roof of his mouth and sliding across his tongue.  Not wanting to let the use of his other hand go to waste, John began running his hands along Sherlock’s body, everywhere—his sensitive nipples, along his side, his inner thighs, down to his calves and back up to grab behind his knee and push Sherlock’s leg out and up toward his chest. 

John looked up to see Sherlock’s eyes watching him as he increased the pressure and began to suck the man’s cock.  John pulled off with a plop, maintaining eye contact just long enough to ask, “you like to watch me suck your cock?”

“Oh fuck … just … OH!”

John pulled off quickly and sat up on his haunches between Sherlock’s spread thighs. 

Sherlock whimpered quite audibly, a look of momentary confusion quickly morphed into complete frustration.  “John!”

“Turn over.”  John playfully slapped Sherlock’s hip and pointed toward the head of the bed.  “Move up and grab a pillow.

Sherlock moved quickly to the head of the bed and tossed a pillow back to John before he bent himself over, shoulders down, arse up. 

John took a moment to appreciate the view before he folded the pillow in half and shoved it under Sherlock’s hips bringing his cock back so John could see it and touch it. 

With his arse spread wide open, John began to run his fingers along the middle, pulling his cheeks open and stroking his entrance lightly.  “Your hole is so beautiful, Sherlock.  I could lick it all day.”

Sherlock moaned.  “You say the most romantic things, John.” 

John laughed and bent down sliding his tongue between the firm, rounded buttocks.  He slapped one cheek causing Sherlock to yelp in surprise and look back at John. 

“Did you like that?”

“Do it again?”

John began licking Sherlock’s entrance once more lightly stroked a couple of fingers down along the side of Sherlock’s cock before he brought his left hand back and gave a good slap to the same arse cheek leaving a lovely pink hand print in its wake. 

“Oh God!”  Sherlock moaned burying his head into another pillow. 

John ran his tongue from arse crack, down across the space between entrance and bollocks and drew slow circles there with his tongue.  He knew Sherlock was getting close again.  His cock was very thick and nearly purple.  John continued his journey licking across Sherlock’s bollocks and down the length of his cock.  He heard a distinctly deep baritone moan and knew the man was riding precariously on the edge of orgasm.  John flattened his tongue and gave the sensitive tip of Sherlock’s cock one long, teasing lick and sat up again. 

Sherlock instinctively pushed back searching for more.  “John … John, please … need more,” Sherlock begged.

“Easy, Love.”  John draped himself over Sherlock’s back keeping his body well away from causing any possible friction to Sherlock’s cock.  He did thrust his hips toward Sherlock’s getting a bit of friction on his own still-clothed cock.  “One more, Love.  Then I’ll make you come.”

Sherlock’s breath was coming in gasps, his entire body twitching with need, his back arched, his knees spread, his toes curled. 

John spoke softly into Sherlock’s ear.  “One more, babe.  I know you can do it.”

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut.  “Please make me come, John.  Please!”

“You’re so gorgeous.”  John continued to gently rock against Sherlock’s body. 

“Woohoo … Boys!!”  The distinctive voice of Mrs. Hudson broke through causing both men to raise their heads and silently pray she didn’t search for them too hard.  “Boys?”

“Dear God, what does she want?”  Sherlock huffed in indignation.

“Relax, she doesn’t even know we’re together, really.  She doesn’t know what she’s interrupting.”

“Of course she knows.  How could she not know?  She’s walked in on us before.”

“Boys?  Are you upstairs?”  Mrs Hudson bellowed.

“That was a legitimate medical treatment.”

“Uh huh,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

John sighed.  “Stay right where you are.  I’ll go talk to her.”  John clambered up and off of Sherlock, pulled on his jumper to straighten it into something decent before he opened the bedroom door running right into Mrs. Hudson.  John could feel the blush spreading to his cheeks and the tips of his ears.  “Ah, hello, Mrs. Hudson.  We were … just … we ..um …”

“We were fucking, John.  Just tell her we’re fucking and get your arse back in here!”  Sherlock’s voice was loud and very distinctive from behind the door and John knew there was no way he could pretend they were doing anything else.  He squeezed his eyes shut tight and banged the back of his head against said door. 

John opened his eyes in time to shout  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hudson” to her retreating form before he returned to Sherlock, closing and locking the door behind him.  “That was very rude, Sherlock.” 

“Don’t care.  Over here.  Now.”  Sherlock demanded.  “And don’t bother getting on the bed again until you are sufficiently naked.” 

“Oh, aren’t you the bossy one all of a sudden.”  John chuckled and spared a moment to take off his clothes quickly before joining Sherlock on the bed. 

“I am hard as hell John.  I think all my blood volume is locked inside my penis.  I need to come.” 

John kissed Sherlock’s right arse cheek.  “Uh uh, one more.  Then I’ll make you come.  I promise it will be the best orgasm of your life.”

Sherlock huffed and sagged into the mattress, his hips still propped up.  “Fine.” 

John sat between Sherlock’s legs, rubbing his hand across his bum and along the crease of his arse.  He licked  a couple of stripes along the crack just to get it wet and ran the side of his hand up and down the wetness he left there.  “God, you’re so fucking gorgeous.”  John slapped a butt cheek once more eliciting a moan from Sherlock.  “So fucking gorgeous.”  John muttered once more before placing his tongue where his hand was. 

Once Sherlock was a writhing mass of pent up frustration, John  decided to push it a bit further.  He thought he had more time since Mrs. Hudson probably did cool Sherlock down quite a bit.  Sherlock’s entire perineum was completely wet and dripping with John’s saliva.  Sitting back on his haunches once more, John placed both hands firmly on Sherlock’s arse cheeks down low, close to thigh and spread him open leaving his thumbs close together resting on that space just behind Sherlock’s bollocks. 

“Just relax, Sherlock.”

Sherlock moaned in response. 

John began running tight circles with his thumbs on the sensitive spot.  He purposely did nothing else with his mouth so that Sherlock would understand exactly what external prostate massage by itself felt like.  Slowly, he added more pressure and tightened the circles in closer and Sherlock stiffened letting out the deepest baritone growl John had ever heard. 

“That is your prostate, Sherlock.”

“Oooohhhh … God!”  Sherlock groaned. 

“Glad you like it.”  John continued rubbing until Sherlock twitched and his cock thickened just that much more.  Then he pulled off once again leaving Sherlock a writhing, frustrated mess, panting for breath. 

“JOHN!!  Oh, fuck!  John please … please …”

“Shh shh Love, I’m going to make you feel so good, Sherlock.”  John moved over to the side and tapped Sherlock’s hip.  “Roll over form me again, babe.  Flat on your back.”

Sherlock complied as quickly as he could but his body was sluggish, exhausted and needy. 

John kneeled next to Sherlock’s head and bent down to kiss him.  He licked the roof of his mouth slowly, then nipped at Sherlock’s lip.  Sherlock was kissing him back albeit lazily and slowly.  John kissed his lover until he was satisfied then kissed his jaw and his collar bone.  Finally he sat up, still knelt next to Sherlock’s head.  He placed his thumb on Sherlock’s chin and pushed down gently, opening his lover’s mouth.  “Can I put my cock in your mouth, Sherlock?  I’m so close.  Can you suck me off?”

Sherlock nodded lethargically. 

John turned Sherlock’s head to the side and pushed his chin down a bit more to open his mouth enough to accommodate John’s cock.  John groaned as his cock sank into Sherlock’s mouth.  After a few strokes, John looked down at the rest of Sherlock’s body.  His hips were gesticulating slowly, his back slightly arched, his knees bent, feet planted on the mattress.  His color from head to toe was a flushed pink with a very distinctive purple cock engorged with blood.  Sherlock was beautiful, wanton and writhing for John to finish him off.  It was a powerful, heady feeling knowing this wonderful, beautiful, mad, genius was his and only his. 

It didn’t take long before John pulled away from Sherlock’s friction-swollen lips to grab his own dick and finish the job.  He came all over Sherlock’s face and neck as he screamed out his lover’s name.  When Sherlock licked his lips and put a finger-full of come in his own mouth, John gasped and stroked himself a few more times and then smeared the head of his cock through the mess on Sherlock’s neck and jaw.  “Oh fuck!  So gorgeous … so fucking gorgeous.”   John bent down and kissed Sherlock once more, both of them tasting semen and each other in their kiss. 

John ended the kiss and then gave a couple more pecks to Sherlock’s nose and forehead.  “I love you.”

“Mmm … I love you too, John, but pppllllleeease … I’m not even sure this is healthy anymore,” Sherlock whined gesturing toward his own cock. 

John laughed and settled himself lying flat on his stomach between Sherlock’s legs.  “Hold yourself open for me,” John instructed as he pushed Sherlock’s legs from behind his knees up toward his chest.  Sherlock hooked his legs over his own arms and pulled upward.  “There you go.  Fucking beautiful,” he muttered before engulfing Sherlock’s cock with his mouth and sucking on every upstroke and laving the tip of Sherlock’s cock with his tongue on every down stroke.  He was aware Sherlock had yelped and started writhing with much more enthusiasm but his hips remained on the bed which John was grateful for because his hands were busy seeking that special spot once more that he knew would send Sherlock to the moon and back. 

“Oh!”  Sherlock yelped. 

At some point, Sherlock lost the hold on his own legs and began fisting the sheets and pounding on the mattress.  John still took his time, going for the sweeter, slow build that would tear the man apart. 

A sudden gasp from Sherlock and John knew Sherlock was coming.  John continued rubbing his thumbs in those slow circles and sucking on Sherlock’s cock.  Even when he felt the ejection of fluid into the back of his mouth, John kept sucking.  And Sherlock kept coming and coming.  John looked up to see a stunned Sherlock, his torso stiff in surprise.  It looked like he had actually stopped breathing like he was riding a wave of pleasure that just kept on peaking and peaking and peaking.  John kept Sherlock’s cock in his mouth as pulse after pulse of fluid emptied against his tongue.  John tried to swallow as it came but he allowed some of it to leak out of his mouth.  Finally Sherlock took in a sharp gasp and collapsed arching his back and attempting to pull away from John. 

John knew the sensation of being too over sensitive and stopped quickly, moving up to Sherlock’s side.  He grabbed his discarded t-shirt and wiped his own mouth and face, then wiped up the worst of the mess on Sherlock’s face and belly, leaving his over sensitized cock for the moment.  He put an arm around Sherlock’s waist and gave him time to settle and catch his breath. 

Finally Sherlock ran a hand through his hair and flung his arm lazily onto the bed.  He let out a deep breath and placed his other arm over John’s.  “My lips are completely numb.”

John laughed.  “I’m pretty sure that’s a good thing.”

“Oh, I’m quite certain.”  Sherlock turned his head for a kiss. 

Forehead to forehead they laid just breathing together for a few moments until John broke the silence.  “So, any more questions about prostate stimulation?”

Sherlock shook his head, “mmm  mm, I think you covered the material rather … comprehensively.”  Sherlock grumbled sleepily and nuzzled into John’s shoulder, both of them messy and sated, falling asleep in each other’s arms. 

 

THE END


End file.
